An Old Soul
by Kaia Mariacle
Summary: AU, BuffyMethos; Two old souls meet for the first time in centuries. Will they manage to overcome past regrets, or will their shared memories tear them apart once more? (X-Over with Highlander)
1. Prologue

An Old Soul

Author: Kaia Mariacle

Disclaimer: Not mine

Rating: R

Summary: AU; Two old souls meet for the first time in centuries. Will they manage to overcome past regrets, or will their shared memories tear them apart once more?

Author's Notes: This is a story I've been trying to write for years. Sadly, the prologue is the only part finished so far, and I can't seem to continue forward. I'm hoping that posting it will inspire my muses, and if not, well...any suggestions you'd like to make will be greatly appreciated.

Dedication: Sarah Michelle Gellar and Peter Wingfield, because they both rock so much in these roles. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Prologue~

Once, in a land so desolate that even the ground wept, there rode four men.

Four horsemen.

Pestilence. Famine. War. Death.

Four brothers.

Mortal legend tells that these four men raped and pillaged. Murdered thousands, tens of thousands in their rain of terror. Four immortal beings, bent on destroying the world. 

But mortal legends often change over time. Little details fall to the wayside, and the true story is lost.

Because once, in a land so desolate that even the ground wept, there rode four men.

And one woman.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky opened up, and rain tumbled onto the sidewalk. 

It cast a dark glow over the land, and lit up two figures moving in a deadly dance across the wet ground.

They lunged and parried, each backing off, and thrusting forward. This repetition continued until the slighter of the two saw an opening in her opponent's defense, and took it.

He feel to the ground, winded, blood gushing from a deep wound in his stomach.

The woman stared down at him, almost hesitating. 

Then, shaking her head, she lifted her sword high, and moved down in a deadly slice. Lighting began flashing through the sky as a the headless body fell onto the ground. 

She victor dropped her hand, sword sinking into the ground, and her head propelled backwards as she fell to her knees. 

The lighting flashed, shimmering a strange blue. 

The woman screamed soundlessly as it slammed into her, crackling. Her body jolted, moving to and fro as she attempted to take her first Quickening in over three hundred years. 

As the storm finally crashed to the halt, the woman stared out into the dark void of the night.

The Bronze Age

Her village burned brightly behind her. Flames licking at the sky, the loud shrieks of men, women, children echoing in her ears.

She could still hear her false mother's whisper, "Amarante." Screaming, screaming at her. Calling her a demon. A lie. 

Could hear herself crying back, pleading with her family. Her husband. He'd spit, cursing her name. Blaming her for his dead seed. Blaming her for the plague that had cast all their people to death.

Blaming her for every bane that had sieged them.

They'd killed her, thrown her body into the desert.

It was there where she slowly lost herself, until nothing but vengeance filled her mind.

Without horse, without drink, without food, she crawled back. The hot sun darkening her skin, blistering, and then peeling away, healing over. Every day, she died. 

Thirst, famine, exhaustion. 

All killed her.

All created her.

How many days passed, she did knew not. All she knew was the grit of the sand beneath her stomach, the burning rays of the sun above. And the deathly whistle of the wind surrounding her. 

And then one day her lucked changed, as she came upon a campfire. A party of soldiers sat round it, laughing, drinking. Their weapons strewn carelessly on the ground. 

Wasted away as she was, it did not deter her from her task. 

Late, one night, after watching for days, she crept into the camp, and stole the weapon of a young soldier.

Then slid it into his throat, and slipped back into the night.

When dawn broke, she watched as the men awoke. Smiled when they saw the body of the boy, and hid when they searched for the killer.

Each night after, she slid into the camp, and killed.

And each morning she watched, smiled as they grew suspicious of one another. As brother turned to brother in distrust. 

And then one day, after many had been killed, she watched as they broke. 

Blood spurted into the air, swords clashed, and back's met with knives until all but one lay dead on the ground.

A priest who wept openly at the loss of his people.

Who cried out in horror when he saw her striding towards him, waif-like, golden hair swirling round her, blue eyes so dark they rivaled even the blackest night.

She eyed him, licking blood off her hand. Her eyes drank in his dark, silken hair. His strong hands. 

"You will teach me." 

He stared at her in horror.

She smiled, and raised her stolen sword. Laughing as he gasped, turned away, cried out when she lifted the tip to trail across his neck. Turning him back.

"You will teach me."

Sweat slid down his brown, as the sword caressed his chest, slicing his cloak open, baring his chest.

He gasped at the hot steel, stared into her dark, dark eyes.

And shuddered at what he saw.

She moved closer, and lay a hand on his chest. "You will teach me how to love." She whispered.

"Lo...o...ve?"

Her laugh traveled down his spine, and her soft breath across his lips.

"What is your name?" She whispered, slipping off his robes. Pushing him to the ground with the tip of the sword. 

He shook his head wildly, frantically whispering for someone to save him from this demon. 

Amarante snarled at the word, and pushed the sword into his arm, drawing blood. Crouching atop him, she leaned down, and ran her tongue across his cheek. 

Tasting innocence.

"What is your name?" She repeated, tongue grazing his chin. "Tell me now, priest. Tell me the name of the one who will teach me how to love again." She stared down into his frightened eyes. "The one who will help me find my vengeance."

He whimpered as her hand grasped his nether regions. Caressing, stroking, twisiting.

"Tell me." She whispered, her hands traveling across his resistant flesh. Laughing as a groan escaped his mouth.

"Kro.....Kron...os." 

flashback end

Was this the life of an immortal, she wondered. To not just see the moment, but be in it, feel everything you once felt.

Thousands of years, thousands of death, and the one memory that always came after a quickening was of her first innocent. 

Her first regret.

She sighed, and picked up her sword. 

It was covered in the blood of the headhunter. Slick with his life. Wiping it off on her coat, she shook her head.

He had shocked her. Calling her by her true name, and taunting her with his sword. He'd been young, seven hundred or so, and he'd been driven by the need to take the mythical Amarante's quickening.

She'd had no choice but to take his head.

Sighing again, she looked down at her watch, and cursed the foolish immortal who'd interrupted her night. 

Joe had said to meet him at eight o'clock, he'd sounded desperate. Had said something about a crazed immortal on the loose, after his friend's head. And how much he needed her expertise on such things.

It was ten now, and she hoped his friend still had a head. A thought struck her, and she looked back at the headless corpse, smiling 

Maybe she'd already taken care of the situation.

TBC...


	2. Part One

An Old Soul

by Kaia Mariacle

See previous part for disclaimer's, ect.

Author's Notes: I'm so stunned at the wonderful reception this story has gotten! It's my baby, and I was very, very nervous when I posted the prologue. Combining these two fandoms has always been a goal of mine, and to see you guys enjoying it so far, brings a tear to my eye bg. I apologize in advance for the accent (you'll understand after you've read part one), I'm not very good at them, and I researched it as throughly as possible.

All individual questionscomments have been answered, at the end of this part.

But enough of that, here's the next part.

~Part One~

"She's....like nothing you've ever seen before." Joe sighed, and glanced at his watch. "She's also very punctual. I don't know what's keeping her."

Methos rolled his eyes, and sipped his beer. "Joe, I have a pressing appointment with Duncan's couch in a couple of hours. I can't wait forever for this girl." 

Duncan snickered. 

"What?" 

"Richie's sleeping on my couch at the moment, Methos." 

The ancient immortal frowned darkly, "What?! That's *my* couch, Macleod!"

"Well," the Highlander shrugged. "Take it up with him, then."

Methos sat back with a huff, "I just might." He pouted, taking a slow sip of his beer. "You know Macleod, I think you're hostly commitment has become sorely lacking in my absence."

"'Hostly'?" Duncan snorted. "Is that even a word?"

"Let me ask you this, Mac." The ancient immortal replied sardonically, "Who's the elder in our relationship? I think I know what proper vocabulary is."

"Whatever you say, old man."

"Yes, quite right." Methos smirked. He took a long pull off his beer, and stood. 

"Running off already?" Duncan taunted.

Methos sighed in exasperation, "No, Highlander, I'm simply going to use the facilities." he grinned at Joe's snicker, and moved towards the back of the bar.

"Macleod, I'm getting worried, maybe you should -" Joe started, but his voice trailed off when Duncan's head jerked upwards, and his hand automatically reached for his sword.

The door flew open, and a wet, shivering Buffy Summers entered the bar, her gaze unconsciously swung towards Joe, and her mouth opened in a shriek of joy.

"Joseph!" 

His mouth curled into a welcoming grin, and he opened his arms. The grin melted into a confused frown when she paused, and stared over at Duncan.

"Elizabeth?" Duncan whispered, eyes wide in shock. "My God, is it really you?"

Buffy sighed at he pulled her into a warm embrace. 

"I thought you were dead." He whispered.

"No," She shook her head. "No, I was just...needed elsewhere."

1631, Italy

"Thrust, Duncan!" Connor shouted. "You must thrust, *then* parry."

"I dinnae ken why I've to do this, Connor!" The younger immortal shouted, throwing his sword to the side. "Do ye think I cannae take of myself?"

Connor frowned at the burst of temper. "I know you can take care of yourself, but you must learn all forms of swordplay. Not all immortals fight as fairly, or as honorably as we do."

"But-"

They both tensed.

"If I might interrupt, gentlemen?" A soft female voice echoed through the room, and the two Macleod's turned in unison. 

Connor mouth curved, and Duncan's jaw dropped.

"Lizzie!" Connor shouted, moving across the floor and enveloping her in his arms. "It's been centuries!" She grinned as he dropped her to her feet, smiling madly. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," she answered, eyes glinting mischievously. "I heard there was a handsome, devilish Scotsman breaking all the ladies hearts, and I just had to come and see for myself." She eyed him, mouth twitching. "It seems the rumor mill is sorely lacking in it's accuracy." She peered over his shoulder, "Unless that handsome young man is the one they've all been talking about."

"Well, Lizzie, it seems you do need to find yourself a pair of spectacles." He rolled his eyes as Duncan lost his stunned look, and answered her silent hello with a confident grin. "And that *young man* is my student."

She let go of Connor's arm, and walked over to Duncan, holding her hand out in gretting. A laugh escaped as he eagerly took it, kissing the back gently. 

"It's a pleasure to meet ye, lassie." He eyed his cousin. "It seems that Connor's been keeping secrets from me."

"An old friend is not a secret, Duncan." 

"Well then, if she's not, perhaps ye'd like tae introduce us properly." 

Connor rolled his eyes again, "Duncan Macleod, this is Elizabeth Sumner." He smiled at the latter.

"It's a pleasure tae meet ye, Elizabeth."

"Oh please, call me Liz."

"Liz, then." He said, attempting to stare deeply into her eyes.

She burst into laughter, and looked over at Connor. "I see that the rumor's are true, Connor." 

He nodded, "Oh yes, the lad's very much a heart-breaker." He said sardonically. "But he's not much of a student."

"Oh, was that a sparring session I interrupted?" She said. "I thought you were rehearsing a scene, what with all the pouting."

"Huh?!" Duncan shouted, now staring crossly at Elizabeth. "Are ye talking about me?"

She nodded, and crossed her arms. "You seemed to be giving Connor quite a difficult time." 

"Aye," Duncan answered. "He's making me learn something I'll never need." 

She nodded, mocking him. "Ah, I see, so now you're the teacher and he's the student?" 

Duncan's face grew red with embarrassment and anger. What did this *woman* know. He was an immortal, and he was a warrior, and he knew everything he needed to defend himself. 

"What do ye ken?" He shouted, surprising himself. "I was a warrior, and I was a clansman once! I dinnae need tae learn anything else!"

"Duncan," her voice changed, grew soft and honest. "I've lived a long time, and there are many different ways of fighting. Most immortal s you battle will not oblige you, they will take your head and walk away."

Duncan stared at the floor, duly chastised in the face of her gentle reasoning. "Aye, I ken that. I...I...just...sometimes...I wish I were back in Scotland, with my family."

"Duncan," Connor broke in, coming to stand beside them. "You need to talk to me about such feelings, how am I going to teach you if I don't know what's going on inside?" 

Duncan flushed bright red, "'S not right for a man tae be talking about such things."

Elizabeth growled softly under her breath, and picked up Duncan's fallen sword. 

"They say it's not right for a woman to fight," she slid the rapier across his shoulder. "But I am a woman, and I know how to fight."

"Liz-"

"Society is often wrong, Duncan." 

end flashback

"Wait a minute," Joe interrupted, limping over to them. "You guys know each other?" He shook his head, "If I'd known, Mac, I would've warned you beforehand."

Buffy smiled softly at him, "I don't think it was ever mentioned in the chronicles." 

__

"Aye," Duncan agreed. "They wouldn't have. Liz, Connor and I were very much in seclusion at the time. She was told me that she didn't like people spying on her, although at the time, I had no idea what she was talking about." he stared at Joe. "Now I know she was meant watchers, but apparently, she's given up that rule." 

"Not given up," Buffy corrected, smiling at Joe. "Just...modified. I mean, it's not every day you meet a watcher like Joe Dawson." 

Joe blushed uncharacteristically, "Hell, darlin', it's not every day you meet an immortal like Buffy Summers."

__

"*Buffy*?" Duncan asked, eyebrows raised. "That's an...interesting name." 

She hit his arm, "Well we can't all be a 'rolls off the tongue' Duncan Macleod of the Clan Ma-" her voice trailed off as a door slammed in the back of the bar. She stiffened as an immortal buzz ran down her spine.

"Well, now, is this the girl I've been hearing about all night?" A voice sounded behind her, and she closed her eyes momentarily. Trying to keep herself calm. Trying to tell herself that she didn't know that voice.

That it wasn't *his* voice.

"Buffy, this is Adam Pierson." Joe gestured behind her. "A friend." 

"Nice to meet you," The voice replied. "Now if you'd turn around I can put a face to the name I've been hearing Joe gush about all night."

She turned slowly, as if in a daze. 

Their eyes met, and the room stilled. His smile melted away, and his hands dropped to his sides as if he was unable to even hold them up.

For the first time in two thousand years, Buffy gazed upon the face of death.

He moved slowly, reaching out. Hand shaking, he cupped her cheek, shooting tremors down both their spines when she unconsciously leaned into the touch.

His voice was low, so low that the other occupants of the room had to strain to hear him.

"Amarante."

TBC...

Peggy: It seems that the muses have come out of hiding for the moment, let's cross our fingers that they stay out for the duration of the story ^_^

Kalystia: Thanks!

Catlimere: I owe you many thanks, as it was your e-mail that got my muses out and about! Thanks you for the insightful comments, I'm also a B/M fan, and writing the two of them is so very much fun. I'm happy you noticed my parallelism to her 'out of heaven' demeanor, I think you might have been the only one, it was a very subtle point, but I thought it fit quite well ; )

Teddy-Blair: Thank you. And remember, this is an AU, so anything's possible ^_^

manticore-gurl071134: Mucho gracias!

greeneyes: They do go well together, don't they?!

Vampyr Moon: Thanks. Amarante is Buffy.

Rood-Roosje: Found the inspiration! Found it, found it! *dances with evil, treacherous, but brilliant muses* Glad you're enjoying! 


	3. Part Two

I apologize for the extremely, *extremely* long delay in getting this chapter up. This is my baby, but it doesn't seem to want to come out as quickly (or at *all*) as I, and all of you, would like. I'll try to update more often, but I definitely cannot promise anything. Methos and Buffy seem to be hiding away somewhere, leaving me without any kind of inspiration. Perhaps you guys can help. Give me ideas! Give my muse ideas! Tell me what you'd like to see, and it'll hopefully help my writing process, and remove my block ;)

I'd also like to thank everyone who stuck by this fic all these long, cold months (Ya'll are fantabulous!) I know it wasn't easy, but it was all the reviewers who kept hanging in there that got this part out. Everytime I checked my e-mail, I saw one or two hopeful reviews, and it got me off my butt, and into writing mode. 

So, thank you guys so much.

I apologize for the shortness, but it was all I could get out.

~Part Two~

One touch, a soft hand pressed against her face. One look, green eyes seeing deep down into her soul. And another lifetime shot through the both of them.

The Bronze Age

He frowned at the body spread across the ground, and crouched on his hind knees to feel for a pulse. He shook her head when all he felt was still silence.

"He's gone and gotten himself killed again," he groused as a dark shadow appeared above him.

The shadow laughed. 

Methos looked up at her, squinting against the sun's glare, and giving the laughing shadow one of his own. "What?"

She continued laughing, "He does it on purpose."

"On purpose?" 

"He's creating a tale for the villages. A tale of indestructible, inhuman beings." She informed him, eyebrows arched up in amusement. "So that the people fear us."

Methos scrunched his brows in thought, and as the body on the ground started up loudly, he grinned. "Well, that's profoundly brilliant of him."

Amarante nodded, and crouched next to him, reaching out to stroke Kronos' now conscious head. "He's a brilliant man." She said as Kronos coughed, and rolled over into her lap. He grinned madly, and she answered with a sigh. "You're insane, you know that."

"That's not what you said last night." He answered, attempting to sit up.

Methos stared at the both of them, and neither noticed the covetous cast to his eyes as they shared a passionate kiss. He dropped back, and stared at the carnage surrounding them.

"It was too difficult this time." He whispered. "We can't fight an army of men with only three soldiers."

"We're not fighting an army," Kronos shouted, struggling to his feet. "We're fighting an inferior race! We're fighting lower beings, and we're going to kill every last one of them."

Amarante rolled her eyes, and stood, "And how do you propose we do that? We're only immortal, and there's bound to be others out there, searching for us."

Methos nodded in agreement, and inched closer to her. He saw her glance at him out of the corner of her eyes, and watched a small smile appear on her face. "I agree."

They stared at Kronos', and watched as the dark immortal's mouth formed a vicious grin, and he reached out to pull Amarante into his arms. 

"Then we'll have to find more to fight for our cause."

end flashback

Buffy pulled back, feeling as if the mere touch of his skin was burning her very soul. He looked so...so...changed. His eyes still held the same darkness, but there was an extraordinary light behind it.

"Amarante?" He repeated, moving towards her_, _much more tentative this time. "I...what are you doing here?" 

She watched his hands drop as she stepped back even further, the new light in his eyes dimming at her less than enthusiastic reception. She didn't know what to do, she'd never thought they'd meet again in this lifetime.

But, somehow, he was standing in front of her.

"Methos....." She whispered as he reached for her once more. She shook her head, a small tear streaming down her cheek. "I..it can't be you."

He moved closer, attempting to reach out once more, but she backed away. She felt her leg slam into a nearby table, and the room spun around her as she feel to the ground. "Oh, God, no, this isn't happening." 

He wasn't here. He wasn't. 

The man standing in front of her could not be Methos. Could not be the immortal she'd once hunted for so many years. She felt dizzy, and her leg throbbed madly as she gazed up at the man she'd once loved with every part of her being.

"Buffy!" Joe cried, shaking off his shock at the scene he'd been witnessing. He limped over to where she'd fallen, and crouched down. "Are you alright?!" He stared up at the tall brit, who was leaning against the wall as if it was the only thing holding him up. "What's going on, Methos!" 

"Methos? Buffy?" Duncan said softly, "What's going on?" 

"Shit, you're burning up." Joe said, reaching down to rub a hand across Buffy's forehead.

"*Buffy*?" Methos whispered, eyes glinting a bit. "Now where did you come up with that name, Amarante?" 

"Why do you keep calling her that?" Joe asked, peering curiously at the ancient immortal. "How do you two know each other?" 

"I think that's obvious they've met before. We both know that the old man here definitely gets around." Duncan voiced as he made his way onto a barstool. "He is the oldest immortal living, after all." 

"Oh, no, Mac," Methos whispered, crouching down to stare more deeply into Buffy's eyes. "That's where you're wrong." 

Buffy attempted to pull herself together, but it was to no avail. She couldn't, not when *he* was staring at her with those intense eyes. She sighed lowly as he reached out, brushing hair out of her eyes. 

"This woman that you call 'Buffy', hold that crown." 

TBC..........


End file.
